“Obviously there was nothing I could do--except one thing. I could put away Mammon--I could give up my practice, my fine house, my scientific researches. But what modern successful man can do it? It was exactly like the rich young man who went to Jesus. And Jesus asked him if he could give up his wealth; leave all, and follow. And the young man could not. That was I. “No. My pride and revolt increase, if anything. And I even became cold toward my wife. And this killed her. I looked on her dead face, and not even then could I break through the ice, and drop one poor tear of pity or self-pity. “You see, I was utterly lost. And now with my wife dead, and no children, and no true friends, you might have thought that it would be easy to let go of the power of the world. But not so. Not so. The decks were cleared for action, that was all. I was going to do a great bit of scientific writing.... “Then the lightning struck me. Oh, it was so simple, so simple. I was walking one night on a side-street on the lower west side. And a prostitute accosted me. I had a sudden burning curiosity. I was curious about the psychology of prostitution. I would go with this woman, and study her. I had no desire. I was a puritan. I did not want to touch her. Ugh! as a physician I knew too much about the diseases of vice.... “She took me then to her dingy hall bedroom in a cheap lodging house. I sat on the cot; she sat on a soap-box. And in the gaslight I saw her; a very thin woman, a little tall, and perhaps tubercular. Shining eyes and glowing cheeks. And she was very poor.” He groaned, and stopped. Then he whispered: “Now the story begins.... I began questioning her, when suddenly she burst out on me: “‘But you are not a human being. You are terrible. I feel as if the Devil himself were in this room.’ “I was startled. I asked her: “‘Who are you? Where do you come from?’ “‘I am a Russian,’ she said, ‘and a Jewess. My name is Losha.’ “‘But are not you in league with the Devil also?’ “‘No,’ she cried defiantly, rising before me and clenching her fists. ‘I am driven by need and loneliness; but you are only vain and learned. You are a lost soul.’ “‘Yes.’ I admitted in my honest way, ‘I _am_ lost. What’s to be done about it?’ “‘You know you are lost,’ she cried, ‘and yet ask me that? Oh, this is terrible. This is the eternal damnation they talk about....’ “‘That doesn’t help me,’ I said. ‘Talk has never helped me. I can talk myself.’” She stared at me, and leaned toward me. “‘You are right. Only an infinite love could help you.’ “That was the way we talked. And suddenly I forgot that I was the questioner and had a great desire to tell her about myself. I told everything, just as I have told you. It was amazing enough; an ignorant sick woman of the gutter, one whose body was common merchandise, and who had no life of her own, and I, the learned scientist, the respectable and wealthy doctor.